Second to None
by Ethereal Bliss
Summary: "As individuals, we aren't strong. All just human... However, when we fall, it's the team that gets us back up." One man's reminiscence of the past. The past about his team. First Team Fortress 2 FanFic. ONE SHOT.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Team Fortress 2 in any whatsoever.**

**Author's Notes: After a long chapter from my previous project, I've decided to take a little break and write something else. I've been wanting to write this for a long time after taking inspiration from a Source Filmmaker Clip I saw of the same name. I hereby state that I will take little to no credit for most of what is going to be written. It was all inspiration I took from the video. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. **

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He opened the shed door with a thud and stepped inside to get a beer from his antique cooler. He reached for the light bulb switch and illuminated the room. Making his way to the cooler, he saw his grandson had also walked into the room behind him. He saw the kid's face which was mesmerized by the contents of the room. He chuckled as he took two beers out and shut the cooler door.

"Like what you see?" He asked the boy, who was no older than thirteen.

"I-It's…" The boy said, eyes wide in wonder. "It's amazing!"

The walls were lined with weapons of all sorts, ranging from rocket launchers to long, shiny claymore swords. Next to the weapons were several posters depicting what seemed like a skirmish between two teams. One team was red. The other was blue. In the center of the room, resting on the desk, were nine miniatures figures, each perfect in detail and color. They each held distinct and unique items in their arms and each wore a different facial expression, describing their personalities quite well. It seemed as that they were all on the red team.

"Grandpa?" The boy asked, looking at the miniatures.

"Yeah?"

"What are those, grandpa?" The boy asked, pointing at the figures.

"Those?" He said. "I haven't told you about them? Not ever?"

"Noo…" The boy said, shaking his head side to side.

"Heheh." He said, chuckling. "Well, that's the team."

"The team?" The boy asked, piqued with curiosity. "What's that?"

"They were mercenaries!" he said cheerfully, pulling the desk closer to them. "The finest in the world! No one else compares!"

He reached over to the desk and picked up the biggest member of the team. "Now, this guy." He said, showing off the figure and his huge weapon. "This guy was the Heavy. He was pure overpower… Always at the frontlines. Although they called him the defensive giant, he wasn't there to defend the place. He was there to destroy _theirs_."

"Who?" The boy asked.

"The blue team." He said, wrinkling his eyebrows slightly before smiling again. "With his trusty mini-gun, Sasha, this guy couldn't be stopped! He was unbeatable!"

He laughed, setting the figure down. "He always had a sandwich to back him up when he needed it. This guy was a great leader in the team, always singing in triumph."

"So, he defended and fought at the place by himself?" The boy asked, enchanted by the Heavy and his tough appearance.

"Oh, no." He said, adjusting his glasses. "Right behind him was the soldier. This guy _built _the old school."

He picked up the figure in a typical soldier uniform, he held a rocket launcher in one hand and a shotgun in the other. With a cigar in his mouth, he stared down at everyone who looked at him with a good, dead-eye stare.

"With his rocket and shotgun combo," he said. "This guy packed a whopping punch and to be honest, you could barely see him coming!"

"Really? How?"

"Heheh," he said, chuckling to himself. "This guy invented a thing called the 'Rocket Jump.'"

"Rocket jump?" The grandson asked, eyebrow raised. "What's that?"

"Well, to be honest kid," he said, grinning. "I don't know how to do it… but what the Solider always did was aim that rocket launcher of his at the ground and jump and boy! How far did he fly!"

"But isn't it dangerous?" The boy asked, worried. "To aim something like a rocket launcher so close to the ground?"

"Nothing was too dangerous for the Soldier. That guy was really something." He smiled. "In 1946, he still fought World War II against the Germans in Poland. I heard that he went an amazing killing spree all by himself!"

Setting the soldier down, he picked up the mercenary right behind him. The grandson looked at the man with awe. He had an eye patch and wore a black beanie. He also dressed himself with bandoliers filled with grenades. With a huge grenade launcher in one hand and bottle of liquor in the other, his face had the look that he was going to do something VERY big. And very explosive.

"Then, there is the Demoman. And ho ho… oh boy." He said. "When he wasn't busy blowing you and your team up, he was getting ready to trap you and blow you up anyway!"

"But isn't it kinda dangerous grandpa?" The boy asked. "To be drunk while fighting?"

He shook his head and chuckled. "Heh, for the demoman, he fought better drunk on the battlefield than not. It kept him on his toes with that bottle of scrumpy in his hand."

"Huh? Really?" The boy asked, face becoming mischievous. "Does that mean-"

"I don't want you swilling bottles of MY beer while you play in the cornfields, boy." He said, setting his bottles on the table. "Grandma will KILL you."

The boy's face went slightly pale. "G-grandma? Grandma Irene? Uh… heheh" he said, nervously chuckling. "Forget what I thought about, heh heh…"

"Better forget about it." He said, setting the black Scotsman down on the table. The drunken grin the man wore on his face, made his smile. "But fighting with the mercs wasn't all about big guns and explosions. Others preferred something clean… something elegant."

"How can killing someone be clean?" The grandson asked. "Who would be like that?"

"Heh." He said, grinning subtly. "That would be the Spy." He pointed towards the fancily suited man wearing a balaclava. He had a thin cigarette in his mouth. "The Spy was the perfect combination of speed and stealth. Even if you thought that you caught a glimpse of that guy, he is already a step _behind _you."

"Whoa… Sounds rather scary…"

He chuckled. "He was. But that French-boy was anything but scary. He was a cynical one but he always got the job done with his saying."

"What would that be?"

"Cloak and dagger." He said with a wide grin. "Believe me son, this guy could be right next to ya and you wouldn't even know about it."

The grandson stayed quiet. "You said that the Spy was a cynical guy. Did he have anyone who disliked him?"

"No one _really _hated him…" He said, leaning side to side. "But among the team, the one guy who was _really _annoyed with him was the Sniper."

"The sniper?" The grandson asked. "Is he the one with the sharp boonie hat?"

"Ahah!" he exclaimed. "You are catching on who is who really quick! Yes! That's him. Although he and Spy operated very differently, they worked in the same way."

"How would that be?"

"For the two of them, fighting was nothing but business. Sniper, with him, oho, no tricks. He in particular _always _had the best seat in the house. While Sniper would work from afar, picking you off at a distance, spy preferred to get up close and unpersonal with you. But they both fought… or in this case, worked under the same code."

"Which is…?"

"Hmm…" he said, trying to think. "How did it go again?... Be polite… and be…"

"Efficient?" The boy suggested.

"Yes!" He said, nodding.

"It's on the plaque in your workshop." The boy said, pointing out the window. "You say it your sleep a lot grandpa."

"Oh do I?" He said. "Well, there is one part that I left out from the sign."

"What would that be?"

He smirked. "And be prepared to kill everyone you meet." He looked at the Spy and Sniper miniatures fondly. "These two often argued over their practices but in the end, that is what united these two. These two were amazing on the battlefield together."

"Wow…" the boy said. "But grandpa, everyone on this team looks old. Is there a mercenary among these nine that is young?"

"Hah!" He said, laughing hysterically. "Young? That would be Scout!"

"Scout?"

"He's the merc with the baseball and bat in his hands." He said, pointing at the younger-looking mercenary with a playful grin on his face. On his back however was a strange looking, chamber loaded gun and boy, it looked vicious.

"Scout was fast. REAL fast." He said, grinning. "That kid could run like mad not to mention shoot. That kid could shoot like Jesse James on a rampage against the Union troops. It's hard to keep track of a kid like him."

"Wow..." the kid said in amazement. "And he's young too… He's just like Billy the Kid!"

"That's what they used to call him, the team." He said. "He fought like a rabid dog when it meant that he and his team would win, no matter what."

"Well," the grandson said. "You've covered almost everyone, who is left?"

"Who do you want me to tell you about?"

The grandson put his finger to his mouth and thought for a moment. Then among the remaining figures, one in particular caught his eye. He was donned in an asbestos-lined fire retardant suit along a weathered homemade flamethrower at his side. His shoulders were covered with a flame emblem. Lastly his face covered in a black clad gas mask, giving him a very mysterious appearance. "How about him?"

"The Pyro?"

"Is that what he is called?" The grandson asked, "That's pretty cool…"

"Even if he IS a he." He said, his voice growing quieter with each word.

"What?" The grandson asked. "What do you mean if he IS a he?"

"The mask." he said, pointing to the Pyro's gas mask. "It covered his... orher face all the time. Didn't have a clue what gender he, she, was... The strangest member of the team I have to say."

"He never showed the other members of the team?" The grandson asked, intrigued. "Why not?"

He shrugged. "Probably the Pyro's choice. Besides, faces weren't necessary when you knew what the Pyro could do?"

"Let me guess," The grandson began to say. "He used that flamethrower of his."

"Heheh." He said, ruffling through his grandson's hair, chuckling. "You're sharp kid. Real sharp."

He picked up the figure and rotated it around his hand, observing it with a fond expression. "My father, your great-granddad, always told me, 'If you can't beat 'em, light everything on fire. Heheh... Leave it to the Pyro..."

He handed the figure to his grandson. His grandson held the figure, mouth gaping. Everything was so surreal... but a good kind of surreal. The grandson tweaked around with the Pyro figure a little and got the Pyro in to a victory pose with the Pyro's flamethrower raised above the Pyro's head as if it was in some sort of victory chant.

He chuckled and took back the figure, observing once more. "Yep," he said nodding in approval. "The same pose the Pyro would do... Just like the Pyro would do..."

He shook slightly as he set the Pyro figure down on the table. He shakily took back his hand and wiped his the slight sweat off of his forehead with his arm. He let out a sigh.

"Grandpa?" The grandson asked. "Are you alright? You seem a little shaky."

He looked back at the worried face of his grandchild and gave a warm smile of reassurance, clearing the child's face of anxiety. "I'm fine, son. Thanks for asking."

"Grandpa?"

"Mmm?"

"You know how this team fought battles against the blue team?"

He nodded.

"If they got hurt, who helped them? I mean when they got hurt or injured... Surely bullets and fire hurt like crazy..."

"Ooh!" He said, remembering. "I almost forgot the most important figure on the team!"

"And that would be...?"

He reached over the figures and pulled out a man draped in a long white coat. He wore intellectual glasses and he had piercing blue eyes. He had very complicated looking backpack slung over his back and he held some sort of ray-gun like contraption in his hands. He had medical cross insignia on both of his coat's shoulder.

"Meet the Medic." He said, smiling, showing the serious-faced figure to the boy.

"He looks mean."

"Ohoho. Don't let him catch you hear that." He said. "He doesn't take failure... or insults lightly."

"Why?"

"Well..." He said. "If you are the only medical unit on your team, you tend to get pocketed and ordered around like a dog... The Medic... Oh, he wasn't like that."

"How?"

He chuckled. "As Teutonic man of science, he wasn't going to let some gun-toting hooligan to do his work... His main priority was to keep the team alive. He would heal his team and mercilessly dismember any enemy that came way too close and underestimated him."

"I think he's still mean."

"Yep, you're right." He said, chuckling still. "You definitely aren't wrong but son, never underestimate a good Medic kid... especially this one..."

"Because as individuals, we aren't strong. We are weak... Just human..." He said, looking at the RED team fondly. "But when we fall, it's the team that gets us back up."

The grandson nodded and looked at this grandfather in awe. He looked around the room and smiled until he came back the nine figures. Then he raised and eyebrow. He looked back at his grandfather then back at the figures

"Hey..."

"What, what's wrong?"

"You skipped this guy." The boy said, pointing at the figure who wore overalls and goggles that covered his eyes. He wore a construction hard hat backwards and had a soft smirk on his face while holding some sort of PDA in one hand and a stainless monkey wrench.

"Who?"He said, scanning the figures again until he matched the one his grandson pointed at. "That one?"

The boy nodded.

"Well kid, that's-"

"Dell!~" A woman's voice said, calling out from the main house. "You've got visitors."

"Alright! I'll be out soon." He called back. He turned back and looked back the curious boy. "Well kid, that's a story for another time. Come on, Grandma Irene is calling us."

The boy stuck out his lower lip and nodded reluctantly. "Just like that red robot-gun thingy on our front porch?"

"Yes..." He said, chuckling and ruffling the kid's hair with his gloved hand. "Just like that..."

The boy went to the doorway and stopped. He looked back at his grandfather who was still looking at the RED team, not saying a word.

"Where are they now grandpa?"

He turned around. "I dunno..." He smiled. "Probably in some... surpisin' places... Go on ahead to the house kid. I'll catch up withcha."

The boy grinned and nodded as he ran back up to the house. As the boy disappeared from view, he sighed. He opened up a drawer next to his cooler machine and pulled out a battered and old yellow hard hat. He cleared away some of the dust on the hat with his gloved hand. He sighed as he set it down on his table.

"Hey Hardhat." A voice said behind him.

He turned around and saw two individuals standing in his shed doorway. The older looking man wore a very faded yet fancy suit, he held a reddish-brown piece of cloth at his side.. The man next to him straightened out his ball cap and stretched his back.

"Long time no see... team..." Dell said, smiling as he opened the cooler taking out four bottles of beer. "Where's Tavish?"

The two men looked at each other sadly as they looked back at Dell. "He's gone now Engie."

He sighed heavily as he set the beers on the table. He straightened out his coveralls as he opened the beers with his hand. He handed the two beers to the men and put the leftover one back into the cooler.

"Sigh... gone like the rest of them..." He said, removing his glasses, wiping his face. "Mundy... Pyro... John..."

"Medic and Heavy are gone too..." Spy said. "They... left last year..."

"Together like always..." Dell said. "Just like always..."

"Cyclops- I mean Tavish, he wanted us to tell you that he was sorry... Sorry that he was going to be able to make it this year."

Dell wiped his eyes. "Why would he be sorry?... Tavish..."

"So..." The Spy began to say. "It's just us now... Isn't it..."

"Seems like it Spy." Scout said. "Just us..."

Dell drank his beer. Scout and Spy just held theirs and shook the bottles idly. "Show me where Tavish is?"

"Who?"

"Tavish. Show me where he is."

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Scout killed the engine to the camper van and Spy and Dell exited the car. They walked the fence near an abandoned building. Past the wooden, broken fences, there was a small graveyard with six graves. Spy got to the site first. Scout and Dell talked to another.

"So, Mundy gave you van?" Dell said.

Scout nodded. "Farewell present he said."

"Here we are..." Spy said. "Everyone's here now."

Dell walked to the graves and knelt before them. He put his hand on the grave in front of him.

"As individuals, we aren't strong..." Dell said.

"All just human." Spy said.

"However, when we fall..." Scout began to say.

"It's the team that gets us back up." All three said together.

Dell rubbed the rough surface of the tombstone. "We're all here Team..." he said."We're all here..."

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END


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